


Twisting to the Sun

by khakis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, I think Ron is mentioned once, No Angst, Praise Kink, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Sex Toys, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Who Could Have Predicted, this was going to just be filth and then ended up full of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27859190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khakis/pseuds/khakis
Summary: It helped that Draco had so clearly gone out on a limb with her. She was strangely compelled to meet him in the middle and see if it held both of their weight.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 27
Kudos: 304





	Twisting to the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fic in years, and never before for Hermione/Draco. I fell unexpectedly face-first into this ship a few years ago and haven't stopped devouring the feast of good fic out there for the two of them since. 
> 
> This started as filth, and then the plot kept insisting on being written, and then it got filthier. No drama, no angst, just all the bliss I always want for the two of them. This hasn't been edited or Brit-picked, so any errors are definitely my own.
> 
> For L.

It started slowly, by increments so small they likely wouldn’t have been noticeable had he been anyone but Draco Malfoy and she anyone but Hermione Granger. 

Draco had been hired by the Ministry as a consultant, brought on to advise Harry and his partner Penelope Clearwater in a case involving a multitude of dark artifacts that had at long last been recovered from the last standing Lestrange property in southern France. Suddenly, he was just _around_ , all the time — lounging against the receptionist desk when Hermione popped by for a croissant with Harry; his long stride carrying him past her in the atrium with a whiff of spicy, piney cologne when she came to collect Ginny from her rowdy Department of Magical Games and Sports office for their standing lunch date; easily volunteering to buy a round for the table when she joined in a Friday night office happy hour. 

First, it was just the jolt of occasional eye contact, a strange magnetism that flared between them which Hermione assumed was due to the complex and difficult history that sat heavy between them. The particular way it made her stomach jump and the breath catch in her throat increasingly left her with a nagging sense of doubt about its origins. 

She was fascinated by him: this boy-turned-man who looked exactly, eerily like the grown version of his child self, yet reminded her nothing of that bitter, arrogant child in the way he held himself, the way she witnessed him speaking earnestly to Luna and asking Neville engaging questions about his work at Hogwarts. How he very occasionally caught Hermione’s gaze across a loud table at the Leaky and she swore he _smiled with his eyes_. 

She wasn’t sure how she felt about him being friendly — even playful — with people she had watched him torment. With her. It unsettled her that she was fairly certain he was being genuine in his kindnesses.

Their pinkies had brushed once when she handed him a sandwich meant for Harry, who was unexpectedly out of the office (she worried quite a bit about whether Harry was eating properly or not and was prone to bringing him tasty bits throughout the week, just to make sure). Hermione found herself annoyingly flustered by the spike in her pulse at the contact.

Hermione had opened her own potions shop in Hogsmeade nearly two years before Draco’s return to London. It was a cozy, bright space that she kept stocked with her own high-quality brews and a very well curated selection of general and specialty potion supplies. 

She was known first for the almost unbelievable consistency of her brewed potions, but more importantly for the made-to-order portion of her business. It seemed no product currently on the market, nor any of her predecessors or contemporaries in the potion-selling business, had figured out how to fine tune and adjust recipes to work around common ingredient allergies, find specialty substitutions, and alleviate some of the nastier side effects of the most common medicinal potions. 

It was a real passion, one that she never grew tired of exploring further. It felt to Hermione like there was no limit to the ways in which the art of potions could be refined, radicalized, reinvented. She was always on the hunt for the next brew that she could experiment with alternatives for, an unexpected ingredient substitution, the theory behind each piece of her work. She spent long days, and occasionally very long nights, in the spacious lab she'd constructed in the back half of her shop. 

Draco came in once, looking for Occamy eggs. He didn’t seem surprised to see her behind the counter. Instead, he remarked how impressed he was with the shop. How much he’d always wished to experiment more with potions, but had let it fall to the wayside in the years after school. 

He told her, quite sincerely as she rang him up, how thoroughly he’d enjoyed her last piece in The Quibbler regarding her research into the only minorly-explored intersection between potioneering and curse breaking. It was an area of special interest to him, he said, and he’d appreciate a chance to speak with her about it in more depth. It wasn’t the first time they’d spoken to each other since Hogwarts, but it was the first time they had spoken about anything real. She didn’t know what to think about it. She wanted him to keep talking. She wanted him to leave so she could analyze the last eleven and a half minutes over tea and an entire sleeve of dark chocolate McVitie’s.

Draco did depart eventually with his purchases, his tall frame pausing for a moment outside the shop door, framed dramatically by the setting sun in front of him. Hermione’s heart was pounding. She realized with some embarrassment that she was short of breath. 

Each time she saw Draco, Hermione felt the version of him as a smarmy fourteen year old she’d long had seared in her brain erode a little more, slowly being replaced by the tall, self-possessed, considerate, and inarguably handsome man he was now. She didn’t quite know what to do with it, or him, or herself — or the fact that somewhere along the line, Draco and Harry had become quite good mates.

***

When she ran into him one unseasonably warm afternoon in the magical maladies section of Flourish and Blotts, Hermione didn’t know that Draco’s mother was suffering from a mysterious illness. An ailment that had seemed at first like mild dragon pox but resisted all treatment. It had morphed over time to something more closely resembling complex, malicious spellwork. She didn’t know, either, that the Ministry was totally unconcerned with the health of the Malfoy matriarch, despite her technically being their ward.

Hermione had followed stories about the Malfoys closely for the first few months after the war, when she still felt like a raw, scraped-open nerve and jumped at the sound of a door closing sharply several rooms over. She was keenly aware when Draco’s charges had been dropped, partially thanks to Harry; when his father had received life in Azkaban and his mother a ten year house arrest (though not at the manor, as that had been seized by the Ministry in the aftermath of the war and seemed to be permanently tied up in bureaucratic nonsense). 

After that, however, the Malfoys had gone somewhat underground, and Hermione found more pressing things to focus on, like building a life after war and figuring out what she might like to do with said life.

It turned out, in those silent years, Draco had been building himself quite the resume as a dark artifact expert and curse breaker. He’d spent a few years researching, training and working under several masters in France, then had a relatively brief stint in Brazil working to restore a collection of precious magical artifacts that had been clumsily but dangerously maimed with spellwork by a small sect of blood purists in the region, before finally returning to London. It was actually Harry who’d convinced the Ministry to reach out to him about consulting on the Lestrange case. Quite suddenly, Draco had been back in orbit, though he largely seemed to keep his head down and his life private outside of work and some socializing.

That day, in Flourish and Blotts, he asked her for a reading recommendation on unusual maladies (which delighted her), complimented her hair (which flustered her), and left her blushing and staring after him long after he’d paid for all three of the volumes she’d suggested and pushed back out onto the bustle of Diagon Alley.

***

One cool evening in late September, not long after the hair compliment fiasco, Hermione was startled by the unexpected _rat-tat-tat_ of an owl’s beak against her kitchen window, long after the sun had set.

“And who are you?” she asked, surprised to come around the corner and find not Harry’s sweet saw-whet owl, Kady, but an enormous eagle owl whom Hermione didn’t recognize. She was a grand creature, and frankly a bit intimidating, but she bowed her head and gave one knuckle an affectionate nibble when Hermione offered the bird a treat from the jar she kept on the windowsill. She felt oddly apprehensive as she untied the leather straps securing a small scroll to the creature’s leg. 

_Granger —_

_My apologies for this unsolicited note and the hour of its arrival. I hope Celeste finds you before the evening grows too late._

_After having run into you several times recently, the desire to sit down and have a proper conversation with you has been growing, and I find tonight that I can’t ignore it any longer. You’ve always been the cleverest witch I know — please, take the compliment now and allow me to grovel for the way I treated you when we were children in person later — and I have found myself inexplicably pulled to speak with you about a variety of topics of late. Would you, by any chance, be open to sitting down for tea with me? Whisky? Chips?_

_If this is terribly presumptuous of me, please don’t hesitate to tell me as such. Or, ignore this entirely. Quite frankly, I will be surprised and delighted if you agree, and certain it’s what I deserve if you don’t._

_Sincerely,  
Draco Malfoy_

Of course Malfoy owned a beautiful, enormous eagle owl. Of course he had elegant, spiky handwriting that reminded her of his stature in the long black coat she’d seen him wear about. Of course he would pen the most confusing and charming and weirdly formal letter she’d ever received. And of course she was far too curious to do anything but accept his offer.

She had to drink two scalding cups of chamomile tea, squeeze the stress ball shaped like a Quaffle she’d gotten at one of Ginny’s events to stop her fingers from shaking, and pace her living room six or seven times before she was calm enough to respond. Once she started, however, she found the words came to her much more easily than she’d expected. 

It helped that Draco had so clearly gone out on a limb with her. She was strangely compelled to meet him in the middle and see if it held both of their weight.

_Draco,_

_If we are going to meet, I insist you call me Hermione. It’ll help when you’re doing the groveling you speak of._

_This Saturday, 8:00 o’clock? If you’re willing to venture into muggle London for a drink, I know a good spot. I feel we both could do without the attention that meeting anywhere near the wizarding world would bring. I do my best to avoid appearing in headlines these days, and I have a hunch you do the same._

_Celeste is gorgeous, and exactly the type of posh bird I’d imagine you to have. Should’ve known she was yours the moment I laid eyes on her._

_Hermione_

She fastened the note with the soft leather straps on Celeste’s right foot, and sent her off into the night with a good scritch to the glossy feathers on top of her head. She turned back into her apartment, and commenced the most distracted skincare routine she’d ever conducted, her mind whirring so much that she accidentally put very expensive eye cream on her toothbrush.

Just before she climbed into bed — testament to the bird’s powerful wings — another tap came at the window. This note was only two lines, but they meant she wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon.

_Tell me where to meet you, and I’ll be there at 8:00 o’clock on Saturday._

_Thank you, Hermione._

***

The date — because by the time she was three gin and tonics deep, Hermione felt quite certain that’s what it was — turned out to be the nicest she’d ever had.

She’d instructed Draco to meet her at The Twin Compasses. It was her favorite cozy, nondescript pub just two streets down from her modest flat, which was also in muggle London. Hermione loved the wizarding community, and stayed close-by, but she preferred to live her life quietly and in a way that reminded her of her parents. 

She passed the rest of the week in a somewhat frenzied state of nervous anticipation until Saturday afternoon, at which point time started moving far too quickly and panic set in. Despite her worry, there had been only a brief (though significant) moment of awkwardness upon their mutually punctual arrival outside the pub, but the power of liquor and the strange raw honesty exchanged in the notes between them had washed it away quickly.

Draco lived up to his promise of groveling. Eyes wide and sparkling, he’d taken Hermione’s hand in his own unexpectedly warm one across the table and told her how terribly, terribly sorry he was.

“I don’t mean any of this as an excuse,” he said, while Hermione held her breath and met his serious gaze. “I just want to explain to you how sad and small and scared I felt as a child.” He paused, his face inscrutable for a moment. “Perhaps you could see that in me and already knew this.”

“I was raised on hatred and arrogance, a diet that would ruin a strong child, and I was...not particularly strong. You were a threat to everything I believed and everything I thought I knew. And by the time he-who —” he took a breath and pushed on, “— by the time Voldemort was alive again and living in my house, it was too late for me to make any kind of moral stance or even decision of my own. He was in my home, and in my head, and threatening to annihilate my only family, and I was just fucking terrified. All the time.”

Hermione actually could imagine the depths of that particular terror.

“Maybe this sounds silly, but I didn’t really think he was _real_ before he came back. He was just a story my parents told. One I loved to hear about before bed. One that made me feel safe and superior. And then suddenly he was _here_ and searing his mark onto my arm. And I was meant to be grateful for it.”

Draco’s eyes came back from whatever far away anguish he was reliving and he squeezed her hand, seemingly emboldened by the fact that she hadn’t pushed him off of her and stormed away yet. She didn’t stop herself from giving him a small, reassuring smile. She couldn’t look away from the sincerity and pain in his face. She had seen that kind of agony in the mirror before.

“Draco,” she said, quite conscious that she also wasn’t letting go of his hand, “I’ve long since forgiven you.” 

His eyes widened. 

“We were children, indoctrinated into opposing sides in a war that had started long before us. Sure, Harry and Ron and I were on the right side of things, but it’s not like that was really a choice we made by the time everything was in motion. I loved and admired Dumbledore, but the older I grow, the more I feel betrayed by the way he used Harry as a pawn in a game he was never allowed to fully understand.”

“Do you really?” Draco looked a bit gobsmacked by the thought.

“I do. We were eleven, for god's sake. Harry was born onto a path he had no choice but to stumble along, kept in the dark and used in a bigger game by those who were meant to protect him above all else. I actually don’t see your circumstances being so different.”

“That is certainly the first time anyone has said that about me and The Chosen One.” Hermione couldn’t quite parse the look on Draco’s face, but her hand was _still_ in his, and his shoulders had relaxed a bit. She watched his jaw clench, and saw the way he steeled himself before continuing. 

“Regardless of all that — and even though you said you have forgiven me — I couldn’t live with myself any longer without at least once telling you directly how sorry I am for the way I treated you. Yes, my behavior was stoked on by my father, and your infuriating brilliance, and frankly my jealousy over your friendship with Potter and Weasley, but I was so horrid to you particularly. Merlin. Sometimes I can’t believe you only snapped and punched me once.” 

He laughed, low and dark, a sound that traveled up Hermione’s spine and made her aware of each hair on the back of her neck. “It still keeps me up at night, the way I tormented you for years, and then stood by while Bellatrix tortured you in my home. I have never owed someone so much as I feel I do to you. I will be sorry for the rest of my days, Hermione.”

Hermione paused for a moment, struck by the man in front of her, struck by how surely she believed him. “I said I forgave you long ago, and I meant it. But thank you, Draco. I hope rather than being sorry, you can spend some of the rest of your days telling me about the work you did overseas and letting me pick your brain on potioneering.”

He smiled at her then, with his whole face, something Hermione had never seen. It was dazzling. 

“In fact,” she gave his hand one last squeeze, then dropped it to gesture towards the bar, “you could start by getting me another drink.”

Three hours later, the pub having filled and emptied and filled again around them with the late crowd, Hermione was deep into explaining her research and theories in the largely-unexplored realm of using potioneering in conjunction with curse breaking. She was sweetly buzzed. It occurred to her that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a conversation this interesting. 

Draco was riveted to her, his eyes occasionally dropping down to her mouth as she spoke, but he asked fascinating questions and sparred with her on a few points he disagreed with in a way that made the blood rise in her cheeks and her heart pound. 

Four hours in, at midnight, he was loose enough to tell her that he’d drafted six different notes to her before finally sending the one she’d received via Celeste, which made her laugh — and then, even more vulnerably, about his mother’s condition. 

She asked, shyly, if she could possibly see the work he’d done so far on finding a cure for her, and perhaps help him seek it out further. 

Draco stared, seemingly dumbfounded for a moment, before laughing incredulously. 

“You are even more infuriatingly wonderful than everyone has always said,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Of course, I would love any help you can offer. I would be so grateful. If you’re free tomorrow, come by my flat and I can show you what I’ve done already? Only...if I can buy you another drink after, as thanks.”

“I’d like that,” Hermione said. She couldn't bring herself to be embarrassed by how hard she was smiling. 

They bundled back up in their coats not long after, both of them astonished to discover the time was past 1:00 o’clock in the morning, then headed out into the chill of the night. It was particularly biting after such a cozy evening in the snug of The Twin Compasses. 

Outside the pub, Draco put one hand on Hermione’s shoulder and then let it drift up to cup her cheek, watching it rise as if he was no longer in control of it. And Hermione, warm despite the cold from their conversation and plenty of gin and the look in Draco’s eyes, leaned up into him and kissed him. Soft, easy, followed by an explosion in her stomach that fizzled out through every vein in her body. She leaned in again, and then again, and once more because she couldn’t help herself.

And, incredibly, that had been that.

***

In what felt like no more than the space of several heartbeats, they were spending most of their evenings together and all of their weekends, except when Hermione had obligations elsewhere or Draco was tending to his worsening mother. Draco kept a very small social circle, and given that they both were their own bosses most of the time, they had a fair bit of flexibility in their schedules that allowed for a shocking amount of time together that no one else really seemed to notice.

Ginny had told her recently she was glowing, and offered suspiciously to set Hermione up with Nice Greg from her office, but Hermione had chalked it up to professional success and expensive muggle skincare products and told Ginny she was far too busy with product development to consider dating at the moment. 

It helped that after more than a lifetime’s worth of excitement as teenagers who had grown into adults who hated public attention, Hermione and Draco were both quite content to just stay home with each other. Sure, he’d twice arranged a Portkey to take her to dinner in France, but they mostly had wild afternoons out in the organic pasta aisle of the posh muggle supermarket several streets away from Hermione’s flat. Sometimes they would walk for hours through the park with the pond nearby, wandering in circles and talking about whatever they were each currently fascinated by. Hermione was unbearably charmed by the way Draco couldn't stop himself from picking up small rocks that caught his eye, sharing their beauty with her, pocketing the specimens he could reasonably carry home (and once or twice surreptitiously shrinking bigger stones he couldn't bear to leave behind so they would fit). 

Neither of them seemed to grow tired of spending their time together, and their evenings were an easy negotiation of good food, better wine, books, and with an astonishing frequency, gravity-bending orgasms.

Hermione’s visits to the Ministry had increased, as Draco was now consulting on the cursed Villaumbrosia artifact collection the Aurors had recently uncovered in Spain. Harry happily accepted the deliveries of extra ham and cheese toasties and cups of hot chocolate without ever seeming too curious about their sudden proliferation. 

Hermione and Draco had both agreed to keep things between them quiet for as long as they could, and for the time being, that still extended to her best friend. She wasn’t ashamed of Draco, and she told him that point blank when they’d originally discussed their arrangement. 

In fact, the issue was that Hermione knew that Harry would be unable to help being concerned and protective if he knew they were seeing each other. She didn’t want anything to impact his and Draco’s strong but still burgeoning friendship and solid working relationship on the chance that things went south between Hermione and Draco. Harry meant well, but he had a tendency to lose his head a bit when Hermione was seeing someone, and this particular someone was — well, fraught. 

Plus — though she knew it was a bit silly — after their adolescence together, Hermione hated asking Harry to keep a secret for her.

It turned out, having Draco all to herself had some serious perks.

***

Three months after their first evening together, they were stretched out across Hermione’s sofa. They spent a lot of time in Hermione’s flat; Draco had rented a no-frills furnished place that he felt a sort of detached neutrality towards, and he much preferred the coziness and loosely controlled chaos of Hermione’s domain, even when he made fun of her organizational habits.

They’d both had long days, and neither particularly wanted to cook.

“Chinese?”

“I was thinking Thai, actually.” 

Draco frowned, caught off guard by Hermione’s surprise turn of heart. “I thought you preferred Chinese. It’s what you always crave after two glasses of pinot grigio, anyway.” He gestured toward what was her second glass of wine that evening, perched on the edge of the coffee table. “Plus, you once told me I only liked Thai because I was trying to be interesting and mysterious. I remember it quite distinctly.”

Hermione could feel her face heat. “That was right after we started seeing each other and I was absolutely mortified about how much I liked you. I had to be a little bit mean to compensate.” 

This admission made Draco beam his sweetest, brightest grin, the intimate one reserved especially for Hermione. It made her feel generous, a little reckless. “Also, if you ask me, you performed some kind of dark magic ritual on me — I’ve been having actual dreams about the Pad See Ew noodles you had last week from the place on the corner.”

The grin turned a little wicked. “No defense against the dark arts could’ve stopped this, my most nefarious plan.” Draco squeezed her knee and passed her the telephone, which he was fascinated by but still too wary to use himself. ( _“It’s simply not natural, Granger, to have your voice trapped inside of a box like that.”_ After seeing several too many horcruxes for one lifetime, Hermione could understand the mistrust.)

That evening, fueled by rice noodles, Hermione had a breakthrough on Narcissa’s illness. 

Draco had been increasingly frustrated that the curse seemed to be interacting with the dragon pox in a way that linked them inextricably: the pox interfered with any sort of attempt at further diagnosis, and even when treated directly came back almost immediately. 

With her belly full of Pad See Ew, and her head in Draco’s lap, Hermione casually suggested administering the standard dragon pox treatment and then immediately putting Narcissa into a magically induced stasis to see if whatever else was attacking her could be isolated and identified. 

And so Draco had brought her along to Narcissa’s small Ministry-appointed flat to do just that. 

It had been a slow acting curse, after all, likely placed on her sometime during Voldemort’s stay in her guest quarters and triggered by a recent stressor, possibly the initial case of dragon pox itself. After dosing his mother with a pox remedy that Hermione had brewed herself (made specially with a pinch of powdered root of asphodel for its calming properties), Draco, with immense skill and focus that turned Hermione on more than she would ever like to admit, spent nearly two hours carefully peeling back threads of dark, complex magic woven around his mother. 

Afterward, exhausted and pale, he gave Hermione a searing kiss before taking a deep breath and bringing his mother back out of her coma. It was immediately clear from the flush in her cheeks and the way she breathed, “ _Draco?_ ” that he had succeeded. He had brought his mother back to herself. 

Hermione slipped out of the room and left Draco to come find her in her flat if and when he was ready. It didn’t feel like quite the moment to explain to a newly recovering Narcissa exactly how she, Hermione Granger, had ended up in Narcissa’s home.

Draco came tumbling through her floo long past midnight, though Hermione was still up and waiting for him on the sofa. He stood from the crouch he landed in, strode to her, and pulled her up into his arms. She could feel the damp of his tears against her skin as he kissed her neck and breathed her in. He was nearly vibrating against her.

“You brilliant bloody witch,” he murmured. He pulled away to look at her, searingly, before pressing himself against her again. “My brilliant bloody witch. I will never be able to thank you enough. Anything you ever need or want, I will find it for you. I will bring it to you. I will make it for you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Hermione said, leaning her head against him and stroking the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “Being your brilliant witch is thanks enough.”

His eyes still shining and a look of devotion in them that left Hermione breathless with its intensity, Draco scooped her into his arms and carried her down the hall to where her enormous, comfortable bed was waiting to envelop them both.

***

Hermione had participated in a lot of perfectly nice sex in her life. Sex that generally felt good, and occasionally brought orgasms along with it.

Sex with Draco, however, was not like that. Sex with Draco had involved her coming six times before she’d even gotten his pants off on the first night they’d hooked up. Sex with Draco meant she felt desirable, sexy, for the first meaningful time in her life. Sex with Draco left her sore and sated. He always managed to surprise her, and they laughed a lot in between athletic bouts of trying to be as close to one another as possible.

Many things about Draco had surprised her, but maybe this most of all. 

Sex with Draco meant Hermione had real fantasies for the first time in her life: her brain constantly churning out new ways she’d like him to devour her whole. Due to a potent combination of embarrassment and stubbornness, it usually took a few weeks for her to work up the courage to ask him to try something new, even if it was relatively mild (blindfolding her, researching and buying new muggle toys to use on her), but his enthusiasm and thorough delight made it easier and easier every time. He didn’t push her too far, only encouraged her to go as far as she wanted with a deft touch for slipping her over an edge into something she hadn’t even known she wanted. He took her ideas and spun them into sex more surprising and erotic and satisfying than she’d ever imagined. 

Draco loved to get her off hard and quick throughout the day, sliding up behind her as she was waiting for tea to brew or scribbling a to-do list or finishing up the chapter of whatever book she was currently flying through and pressing his body firmly up against hers. 

He’d cup her breasts in his broad hands, tweak her nipples, bite at her throat before one of said hands inevitably found its way into her knickers, and then, unerringly, her clit. He’d figured out how to work her up so fast it would leave her breathless, gushing against his fingers or clenching around them on the rare occasions he would slip one inside of her. Usually, he could make her come hard enough that he’d have to hold her body up as she spasmed, murmuring what a sweet girl she was and how he loved the way she came for him. 

There was nothing quite like being left weak-kneed and trembling over a still steaming cup of tea, gripping the edge of the counter for dear life as Draco Malfoy’s laugh rang softly in her ears.

It was almost impossible for Hermione to believe that the body Draco easily manipulated to such delicious ends was the same one that had struggled to orgasm with a partner for the first twenty-six years of her life. Maybe it was the way he had a hold of her mind, as well.

A week after Narcissa’s cure, Hermione arrived at his flat late and completely wrung out after a grueling and frustrating day of brewing at the shop, and let him strip her down and slowly caress the stress out of her body until she was loose limbed and very wet. Flipping her on her belly, he’d canted her hips up towards him and started fucking her with the two middle fingers of his right hand. His left, big as it was, spread across her hip to hold it up. 

She was conscious of making quiet, mewling noises, but couldn’t control their escape from her mouth. She could hear herself at a distance, all of her senses made hazy by Draco's deft touch.

Just as she started to need a bit of something more, Draco shifted his whole left forearm under her waist. His unoccupied thumb and pinky finger spread out in search of her aresehole and clit, respectively, making her gasp and tremble against the bed. He hoisted her by the hips so that she was dangling over his forearm. Her body felt totally weightless and at his mercy as he fucked his fingers and thumb into her and slid his pinky against her clit. She trembled, her whole body tensing and then rippling with exquisite force as the orgasm rolled through her. 

Her cunt was still clenching when Draco dropped her back to the bed, knelt on either side of her hips, and slid his cock inside of her in one smooth motion.

***

A stormy, soggy March afternoon in London, six months almost to the day since their first date, presented a perfect opportunity for one of Hermione’s favorite things: being snuggled up inside while unhappy weather raged without.

Draco had been quite taken by her film collection, and she’d been slowly showing him all of her favorites. He had an unexpected affinity for action films. The Bourne series had been his favorite so far, followed by surprise pick Wallace and Gromit — though they were now working through her collection of rom coms, and he seemed equally enamored with yearning and implausibly happy endings as he had been with car chases, gunfights, and claymation. 

Hermione was currently riveted to the 1996 _Romeo + Juliet_ , one of her hallowed top three of all time. This day had been coming for a long time, and Draco certainly knew better by now than to compete for her attention with Claire Danes and Leonardo DiCaprio falling in love through an aquarium. She wasn’t particularly bothered when he laid down between her and the back of the sofa, casually pulled her long shirt up her belly, and slipped his broad hand into her knickers to cradle her. 

She thought, for a moment, she’d have to tell him to sit on the other side of the sofa if he couldn’t behave himself until _after_ the credits rolled on such a seminal artistic work, but she quickly relaxed. It seemed clear he wasn’t trying to get frisky, really. He just nestled the flat of his palm snug against her as she lay spooned up against the crooks of his body, fully immersed in young Leo. 

Just as a distraught Romeo set out for Verona, Hermione became hyper aware of her throbbing cunt, which was swollen and dripping against Draco’s fingers. When had that happened? He wasn’t encouraging it, exactly, just providing a gentle, steady pressure that sometimes slid lightly against her clit as she shifted on the sofa. It seemed that while she’d been distracted by Claire and Leo holding each other in the pool, her body had felt all the effects of Draco’s closeness, the possession in his casual holding of her, the primal way she reacted to his nearness.

She squirmed against him as the movie ended, the credits rolling up the screen as she realized abruptly what an absolute state he had worked her into without doing much of anything at all. She felt short of breath and hot all over as he finally, pointedly, excruciatingly pressed his slender middle finger down directly against her clit. It slid easily against her, slick as she was. She gasped quietly, then reflexively sucked in a breath and held it. 

“What —” Hermione tried valiantly to act like nothing was happening. “What did you think of the movie?” There. That had sounded in the neighborhood of normal.

Draco laughed and sat up behind her, managing to do so without losing contact with her pussy. He hooked his other arm around her torso so he could haul her upright between his spread legs. He kissed sweet and slow from her ear down to the junction of her shoulder, where he bit her gently, his middle finger occasionally applying pressure against her clit and making her twitch and swear quietly under her breath. She was exquisitely aware of the shape of him, hard and hot against her back. “I think that film just reaffirmed something I already knew.” His tongue flicked against her earlobe. “You taste amazing, Granger.”

Hermione turned to frown at him and found him smirking at her. “Oops, sorry. I meant that you have great _taste_ , Granger. In cinema, obviously.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, smiling against her will. He was purposefully avoiding her clit now, teasing her by getting close, but not close enough to where she really wanted him. Needed him. She barely stopped a whine from slipping out between her teeth.

Spread between his legs like this, it was hard for Hermione to focus on anything except the trail of exploding sensation Draco’s touch drew across her skin with his free hand. The other remained snug against her, teasing mercilessly.

And then Draco took pity on her. He deliberately rolled her clit against the valley made by his pointer and middle fingers, surprising a gasp out of Hermione. The pressure was slow, and filthy, and designed to drive her absolutely mad. Her whole body was a barely-controlled writhe.

“Think about if you want to try your new toy out tonight,” Draco murmured, drawing his nose up the flushed side of her face. He’d gotten quite into her collection of muggle sex toys, and delighted in buying her new ones to suit their growing fantasies. 

“The plug?”

“Mmm.” He tugged lightly on her earlobe with his teeth.

There had been more than one reason Hermione didn’t want him getting too handsy before the movie even started. “I’m...already wearing it.” 

He froze, just for one full heartbeat. Silently, he slowly slid his hand down over her clit, past her slippery cunt, only stopping once he could feel the entire end of the plug she wore snug between the cheeks of her arse with all five of his fingertips. 

They’d only started experimenting with her arse recently, but Hermione had always been curious. She just hadn’t known the person she’d finally feel safe enough to ask to explore it with her would be Draco Malfoy, of all people. 

He had been into the idea, to understate things rather severely.

It was so much fun to get to surprise him like this, especially with a new level of exploration she’d achieved all on her own, like putting the plug in herself for the first time. Secretly, though, she was still a bit intimidated by the intimacy of him getting her ready, sliding the plug into her, looking at her in such an unobstructed way…

She wanted that, but she’d skipped the potential awkwardness anyway by lubing herself up and slowly, carefully, settling the plug inside herself before the movie, when she’d been feeling just brave enough. 

Draco’s fingertips pressed against the plug, quick and sharp, and a whimper escaped Hermione before she could stop it. He rumbled a laugh behind her, and when he spoke again she could hear the low thread of his lust for her in his voice.

“I’d say I’m disappointed to have missed you getting yourself ready for me, but that would be a lie. I’ve never been less bloody disappointed in my life, you minx. My little minx.”

Hermione purred.

Draco stood from the sofa, bringing Hermione with him as he rose. He walked her down the hall towards her bedroom, his body enveloping her and his hands seemingly everywhere on her at once. She was conscious of so many sensations simultaneously that it was sending her into overdrive: how wet she was, the way the plug shifted inside of her as she walked, the trail of electricity Draco’s hands were tracing over her skin, the distant sound of early 2000s Beyoncé drifting up through the floorboards of her flat. 

They paused in the doorway of her room, which was lit with the soft patina of early spring afternoon rain. She started forward, but Draco had his hand back inside her knickers before she could take a step, and she pulled up short. His other hand slid down her back, until she had to bite down on her own tongue as he pressed and tugged lightly on the plug while gently, _so gently_ , rolling her clit against the tips of his fingers. She shuddered.

“Do you like that, darling?” Hermione could only whimper as the pressure inside her arse increased. “You’re so good for me, sweetheart. I love feeling you tremble for me. I love playing with you. I can’t believe you let me touch you like this.”

“Draco —” she tried, and then gave up as a small orgasm rolled languorously through her, forcing her to reach out and grip the door frame for support. 

“Yes, Hermione?” he asked, and then laughed when she couldn’t coordinate her mouth to respond, leaning down to bite at the curve of her neck. He tapped the plug twice more, then pulled both hands out of her knickers and slapped her lightly on the arse. “Up on the bed now. That’s my good girl.” She walked forward on shaky legs, and Draco met her at the mattress, smoothing her hair out of her face after she’d climbed on. “Shall I put this up for you?”

Hermione nodded shyly, closing her eyes and letting out a small hum of pleasure as Draco pulled a hair bauble off the bedside table and carefully gathered her wild curls onto the top of her head.

He held her chin between his thumb and forefinger for a moment before bending down to kiss her thoroughly. “What do you want, Granger?”

Hermione thought for a moment, all at once sure of what she would like and also too embarrassed to ask him. She felt Draco tip her chin up further and dragged her eyes back to his. She was always rewarded for being brave with him. She bit her lip, and he gently tugged it out from under her teeth, smoothing his thumb against the plush of it. “Tell me.”

“I want —” Hermione began. She squirmed a little, and then it all came out of her in a rush. “I want you to turn the plug on and put me on my back and fuck me with my legs over your shoulders. I want to ride you and come around you while you use the new vibrator on me. And after that...I want to take the plug out and...” her voice dropped to just above a whisper. “I think I’d like to try taking you in my arse.”

“ _Good_ girl. I’m proud of you,” Draco said, looming over her. She watched the heave of his chest. “We can do all of that and anything else you like.” He slid his hand down from her cheek and gently squeezed her throat, before dropping it further to pinch and hold her right nipple through her shirt until she was squirming in front of him. “Up there. Make yourself comfortable.” He pointed to the headboard, and Hermione happily scrambled to arrange herself against the pillows.

Draco crawled up the bed after her, every lithe inch of him looking deceptively relaxed. A panther acting casual on the hunt. Hermione was unbearably conscious of the slick between her legs, the lush heat radiating off of her skin. She pushed herself back up, just far enough to wrangle the soft sleep shirt she was wearing up and off of her body, shivering a little as she was exposed to the cool air of her bedroom. 

“Do you know,” Draco began as he drew himself up between her spread legs, gently pushing her shoulders back against the pillows, “how delicious you are?” 

He leaned forward, laving his tongue across one hard nipple before drifting across her chest to bite at the other. “How often I think about having you spread out in front of me, just like this?” He smoothed both hands down the inside of her thighs, pressing her legs open and back. Hermione loved the way it made her feel exposed, bare to him. 

“How I fall asleep thanking Merlin every night that you let me look at you, no less touch you?” Draco’s hands left her legs, and his face was suddenly just a few inches from her own. “How I dream about fucking you, and even in my dreams it’s not as good as the real thing?”

Hermione’s entire body was burning. She was so affected by his low voice and the words he said to her with it that her breaths were coming in strange, irregular pants. Draco leaned forward and bit the soft expanse of thigh his left hand had just traversed, before reaching up to roll her soaked knickers down her legs. Hermione shivered violently as he blew cool air across her swollen clit, then licked his way from the base of the plug upwards in one long motion. She couldn’t stop herself from crying out.

“Show me what you dream about, Draco,” she whispered. He smiled, slow and sexy and a little intimidating in the promise it held, before he was gone from her body and she whimpered at the visceral loss of him.

“Impatient little thing,” he _tsk_ ed with a laugh, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding his pants down his legs until he was nearly naked and she could clearly see the outline of his beautiful cock through his pants. It made her mouth water. “I’m going to take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.”

The plug came to life inside of her with no warning. 

Draco, who was fascinated by Hermione’s collection of muggle sex toys, had cleverly figured how to use magic to operate them — and shockingly quickly, too, given that Hermione herself had never been able to. Draco chalked it up to being extremely motivated. When combined with his skill at wandless and wordless magic, it often meant that she was at his mercy. Like now. 

She gasped, her hips jerking off the bed. “You bastard,” she said, her breath coming heavy. She was tempted to reach down and stroke her clit, but she knew how sensitive she was already. She didn’t want to risk ruining the tension too soon. She trusted Draco to give her what she wanted, and a side helping of everything she didn’t know she needed. 

Draco, standing next to her by the bed, didn’t look contrite in the least. “I love watching your body shake,” he said, before the plug suddenly ratcheted up another two levels. Hermione let out a low moan. 

“Please, Draco,” she said, barely able to keep her eyes open to meet his against the intensity of sensation. She rolled her hard nipples between the fingers of both hands, her hips rocking as she chased something far off but so, so promising. “Please. Please. Please, I want you inside of me. Please.” 

Draco cut her off with a hard, deep kiss. His tongue delved into her mouth, tasting her, eating the small noises she couldn’t seem to stop making. He pulled back, and she barely had a moment to register that his pants were gone before he was pressed against her cunt. One push and two rolls of her hips and Draco’s lovely, thick cock was seated inside of her. 

They both groaned. Hermione felt stuffed full, the plug vibrating in her arse and resonating deeply in the muscle and tissue around Draco’s cock where he was buried inside of her. She clenched involuntarily several times, and Draco swore under his breath. He pulled his hips back, rolling thrusts lighting her nerves on fire one after another. 

Remembering her request, Draco guided her legs over his shoulders. He leaned forward until he could kiss her and she could feel the stretch burning in her thighs, adding a new dimension to the stratified layers of sensation she was experiencing. The angle deepened, intensified; pleasure refracted inside Hermione like light bouncing around a hall of mirrors. Every thrust from Draco pressed the plug into her arse, so that he was effectively fucking her twice. That thought alone sent her careening over the edge into orgasm, her cunt suddenly contracting so hard around Draco that he hissed and dropped to one elbow to ride it out with her.

“You nearly took me with you, there,” Draco said after a moment, slowly pulling his cock free and wordlessly stopping the plug in her arse so she could have a moment of respite. 

“Would that have been so bad?” Hermione threw an arm over her eyes, breathing heavily.

“Never once has you making me come been a bad thing.” Draco laid down alongside her body, trailing his fingers from her neatly trimmed pubic hair up to the hollow of her throat, then back down again. “I just wouldn’t want to delay the rest of our plans.” 

They breathed together for a few minutes, gathering their energy. Hermione was still exquisitely aware of the plug’s presence inside her, but distracted herself by reaching down to play with Draco’s cock. It was hard against her, though he had calmed down a bit since having her clenched around him.

“Do you still want a round on top?” Draco asked. 

Hermione nodded. “And after that…” she let the sentence hang provocatively in the air. 

Draco groaned. He leaned even closer into her, running his warm hand up the side of her body until he could cup her cheek. “You’re so good for me. Better than all my fantasies.” 

Hermione tried not to preen too obviously at his words, but he’d said it because he already knew perfectly well how much she loved hearing it. “My good girl,” he said again, and this time Hermione couldn’t stop the smile unfurling across her face. She rose onto her knees, just enough to slide one leg over Draco’s hips and turn him fully on his back. She sat, her cunt snug against him for a moment, relishing the feel as she tilted her hips to slide against him. He stared up at her, his light eyes totally arresting. She was caught inside his gaze as she knelt up just far enough to angle the thick head of him against her. She was pinned by his stare, enraptured, until she had to close her eyes at the wholly overwhelming feel of sliding down onto his cock.

It was so intense at this angle, him pressed inside of her against the plug, not to mention everywhere else. How did he manage to be everywhere in and around her body at once like that?

“Use me,” Draco said, his hands firmly planted on her hips to help her ride him. Hermione planned to do just that.

Moving her hips in deep, slow rotations, Hermione opened her eyes only to glance toward the bedside table and wordlessly summon a small vibrator to her hand. Draco had been the first person to ever make Hermione come while he was inside of her — usually she was a clit or nothing girl — but still, orgasms usually felt just out of reach during penetrative sex without a little extra something. She wanted to come _hard_ , both for the rush of it and because it would relax her for what she was planning to do...after.

Draco pressed down against Hermione’s hips, anchoring her against him as she played the vibrator against her clit. She was chasing the edge of an orgasm that still felt out of reach, just over a horizon she couldn’t see —

Several things happened at once: Draco took the vibrator from her, changing the angle ever so slightly, and bucked his ups up, grinding just a little deeper into her. The plug in her arse came to life in the same instant. Everything inside of Hermione clenched, taut as a fist, and her vision was suddenly soft around the edges. Her ears rang. She could feel her mouth drop open in an aborted gasp.

The strings keeping her upright were cut all at once as Hermione fell over the edge into a chasm of sensation, her limbs trembling so fiercely as the orgasm rushed over her that she lost the battle to white-out bliss and collapsed forward onto the welcoming expanse of Draco’s chest. She was distantly aware of the feeling of his scars pressed against her cheek. 

As Hermione’s hearing and vision began to swim back towards her, the vibrator was still buzzing wherever Draco had dropped it on the bed so that he could hold her. She groped for it half-heartedly, but it stopped, suddenly, ostensibly Draco’s doing. It occurred to her he had also turned off the plug at some point while she was half delirious with pleasure.

Draco trailed his fingers slowly against the flushed skin of her back as she caught her breath. She was hyperconscious of him still hard inside of her as her cunt fluttered through an aftershock of the orgasm. 

“You have unbelievable self-control,” she said, rolling her head sideways on his chest so he could hear her better. Draco huffed a little laugh and thrust into her a bit, as if to prove how good his self-control really was, and Hermione made a noise in the back of her throat at the sensation. Draco reached up to lift the curls that had escaped her bun off of her neck, cooling her down.

“If you had any idea of how insanely good it feels to be inside of you, you’d be even more impressed,” he said, then rolled them sideways and onto the pillows in one smooth move so they could talk without her having to lift her head. He often thought about her comfort more than she did. “How are you feeling?”

Hermione paused for a moment to survey her body. She was definitely a bit wrung out from her last orgasm, but she could still feel the throb of excitement and desire flare to life in her gut at the thought of more. She was incredibly slick around Draco inside of her. And her arse...well, she was _really_ enjoying the plug. More than she’d expected or hoped to, honestly. She desperately wanted to try taking Draco next.

“Can we take it very slow?” she asked. It had already been a big day, and she didn’t want to push it too far and ruin something that could be great. Draco stopped the sweep of his arms up and over her back to gently grasp the nape of her neck, just enough so that he could tug her head up to meet his eyes. 

“Of course we can,” he said, looking at her seriously. “But I think you should be on top. That way, you’re totally in control of how deep I can go, and at what speed.”

Usually, Hermione liked being guided by Draco. She liked when he commandeered her body in pursuit of showing her how next level fucking good she could feel. She liked when he spooned her from behind and helped her lift her leg just high enough that he could slide in an extra few centimeters and make her suck in a shaky breath. She loved when he pushed her after an orgasm to keep coming, to come harder, to come again, long past when she would normally have stopped when getting herself off. She especially liked when he surrounded her with his body, caged her in and fucked her, whether she was facing him or the bed. She’d been secretly hoping that he might take her arse like that. The idea felt safe, given how very nervous she was for the rest of it. 

She frowned. “You wouldn’t hurt me,” It was partially her own hesitation, and partially her reflexive response to defend Draco to himself. She was used to his very charming but occasionally heartbreaking self-deprecation. 

“Never,” he agreed, his other hand coming up to trace a finger down the slope of her nose. “Never again, never on purpose.” He let her drop her head back to his chest, where she could feel the reassuringly steady thump of his heartbeat against her cheek. “But if you’re on top of me, neither of us has to worry about that at all. You can take it as slowly as you need, and I can freely lose my mind over how good it feels to be inside of you. Deal?”

Hermione was swayed. When he put it like that…

She bit her lip, and nodded her head, knowing he could feel and see the gesture against his chest. 

“Can you tell me out loud?”

She breathed. “I’ll be on top when I take your cock in my arse.”

Draco made a noise between a growl and a purr and hauled Hermione easily up his body so that he could devour her mouth. The movement was sharp enough to slide her up and off of his cock, which had softened only very slightly, and still looked like it could deliver a drink tray to a tabletop of eight without spilling a single drop. 

As he nipped at her, flicked his tongue along her gums and over the tips of her teeth, Hermione reached behind her back, forced herself to relax, and pulled the plug from her arse in one smooth motion. She tossed it off the side of the bed, and felt unexpectedly bereft with its absence.

Draco pulled away from her mouth. His gaze was reverent. He brought her back to his lips with one hand, the other sweeping down the outside of one thigh, then back up between her legs. He was gentle over her still sensitive cunt, then agonizingly slow as he swept two fingers, wet with her come, up until he could tease at her arsehole. 

Hermione bit her lip, reaching for the lube bottle and handling it to Draco with a silent request. He took it from her and then sat up, pulling her down against his lap and maneuvering her onto her knees. She wound up with her face buried next to one of his thighs, her arse in high the air behind her. “Merlin,” he breathed. “What a view.” 

She could hear the _snick_ of the cap behind her, then a pause before the cool sensation of lube dripping against her sent goosebumps skittering over her skin.

Draco tossed the bottle aside, and then his fingers were _there_ again. It felt so different to anything else Hermione had experienced before, and fuck, she liked it so much. Unable to control herself, Hermione arched her back, her legs spreading further out so she could get more leverage to push her arse higher, get closer to Draco’s searching fingers. She could feel him dipping in, experimenting, pressing against the ring of muscle...but it was such an unusual sensation that she wasn’t sure _what_ he was doing most of the time. Nor did she care.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed. Hermione paused for a moment. She’d been enjoying the safety of having her face hidden, but she knew Draco wouldn’t let her stay like that forever. She pushed up onto one elbow enough that she could turn her head and meet his gaze. Draco raised one eyebrow at her and smirked, lasciviously. “My whole finger is inside of you.”

Hermione couldn’t help the way her whole body shivered and clenched at his words. She was pretty sure she could feel her pulse in her clit. Every nerve in her body was on high alert. “Really?” Her voice was barely audible.

“Really. You took it so easily. Should’ve known you would, my good girl.”

She was far, far too turned on for that kind of talk. She bit her lip, and then thought, _fuck it_. She was tired of waiting. “Please, Draco. Another finger. I want more. I want all of you.” She reached down as she spoke, still holding herself up on one arm so that she could punctuate her request with her thumb rubbing the very sensitive spot just under the head of Draco’s cock.

He groaned, low in his throat. “You have no idea how delicious you are, do you? How utterly irresistible I find you?” He pressed an open mouthed kiss to her hair where he could reach her. “How badly I want to know the inside and out of your brilliant mind. The way I am constantly distracted by thinking about the inside and out of your incredible body.” This time, Hermione was acutely aware as Draco slid a second finger into her arse to join the first. “You’re the person whose opinion I care most about. Sometimes the only.” 

She buried her face once more on the bed and breathed slow and deep, forcing herself to stay as relaxed as possible and bear down around his fingers. She’d taken more girth than this already via the plug. 

It was good. Really good. 

“ _Fuck_ , Hermione. I can’t believe how well you’re taking this.”

She bit her lip, overwhelmed by the praise. For a long time, most of the potential love interests in Hermione’s life had seemed to see her more as a tool or an encyclopedia than as a whole person. She loved getting glimpses of the Hermione that Draco saw. Hearing his unfettered praise for her was better than any high, and was contributing significantly to her already supercharged arousal.

Hermione couldn’t wait any longer. She wanted this. She needed it. She needed Draco, inside of her. She needed to prove to herself that she could do this.

She bravely raised her head out from the safety of the bed and Draco’s beautiful thigh. She looked Draco straight in the eye, and the sight of his face made everything inside of her feel like it was melting slightly. 

“I’m ready,” she breathed. She reached behind herself to push gently at the hand that now had three fingers inside of her. “Please, Draco. Please.”

Draco’s mouth had fallen open slightly as he watched her beg him, and his chest was heaving visibly. He managed to slide his fingers out of her, making her moan. Hermione shifted forward until her hips were angled over him at what felt like the right vantage point, and both of Draco’s hands drifted to hold her thighs. She didn’t think he was conscious of how hard he was gripping her. Secretly, she wouldn’t have minded if his fingerprints left a few bruises.

Hermione squeezed more lube across her fingers, then reached behind herself to grasp at Draco’s cock, smearing slick over him. She brought him up to her arsehole. She paused for a moment, already aware that this was going to be so much more intense than her fingers, or even than the plug. Draco’s cock was like him: long and beautiful. Strangely intoxicating. And overall big enough that she sometimes had to shift angles so that he wasn’t pressed against her cervix as he fucked her. 

She breathed out and closed her eyes, suddenly embarrassed to be looking at Draco while she did this. He seemed to sense it, but only reached up to cup her jaw with one hand. 

“It’ll be easier if you bear down on me,” he murmured. Hermione was distracted by his thumb at the corner of her mouth.

“I know,” she replied. “I read about that.”

Her eyes flew open as Draco started laughing, hard enough that he wheezed a little. The muscles of his abdomen were jumping below her. “What?” she asked, affronted.

“Of course you read about it, you little swot.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course I did.” She knew she was blushing. “I like to be prepared.”

“I know you do, darling. You’re perfect. I’m glad you want this badly enough to research it. That’s how I know you’re serious about something.”

It made Hermione feel warm all over, the way he saw her. The way he knew her. The way he reflected her back at herself. She hoped she made him feel something similar.

This time, she didn’t close her eyes. She brought Draco up against her arsehole again and took a deep breath in. As she exhaled slowly, she forced herself to bear down with her muscles, opening herself to the fat head of Draco’s cock. 

The stretch of him was so immediate, so immensely more than the plug had prepared her for. It was overwhelming in a way that shorted Hermione’s brain out, wiping her clear of thoughts and forcing her body just to react and follow its instincts. There was some pain — an edge of genuine discomfort that, while less than she’d anticipated, was certainly there. It kept her absolutely in the moment, made her feel wild and raw. 

Hermione kept breathing deeply as the entire head of Draco’s cock finally nestled inside of her. His shaft, while thick, was considerably more narrow than the head at its widest, so Hermione had a moment of relief once he was in far enough. 

Draco was holding himself incredibly still below her. Hermione finally looked at him, saw the way he was reverently watching her face, and looked away again. She dragged her eyes back almost immediately, feeling vulnerable and undone by his gaze but unable to keep away from it.

“You’re everything, Granger,” he said to her, his voice barely audible. “Fucking phenomenal. Too good to be true.” Hermione bit her lip and sank another few centimeters onto him, watching his eyelashes flutter. 

“Every time I touch you, see you spread open for me, watch you take my cock, it’s better than any fantasy of you I’ve ever had.” He smirked. “And Merlin knows I’ve had many.” 

Hermione felt the praise and filth rolling off of Draco’s tongue in her empty cunt. 

She shivered a little, reached up to roll her nipples against her fingers, and forced herself to take another inch of him inside of her. The burn of it was still very present, but it was being eclipsed: first by how strange and good it felt and second by the unholy mental rush it was giving her. To think that Draco — _Draco_ — was inside of her in a way no one else had ever been. In a way that felt filthy and and erotic and embarrassing and just incredibly fucking hot. 

Suddenly, she was tired of the increments. She reached behind herself and spread another squeeze of lube against the part of Draco’s cock that was still outside of her. The angle wasn’t ideal, but she got it done. Magic could be used to enhance sex in many myriad ways, but hands-free lube application wasn’t yet one that Hermione had discovered.

She locked eyes with Draco, reaching forward with one hand to dip her pointer and middle fingers into his mouth. He wasted no time, sucking and laving his tongue against them, the perfect visual and sensual distraction for what Hermione was about to do. She stared at him, at his perfect face, the way his cheeks hollowed around her fingers, pushed her muscles as much as she could, and sank her body down hard against him.

He was so, so deep inside of her. Fuck. 

Hermione’s brain went offline entirely as she sat against him, her arse flush against the junction of his pelvis and legs and her pussy dripping and sliding against the warm stretch of skin and muscle above Draco’s cock.

She tilted her head back, watching the ceiling fan spin as she gulped air. It seemed futile to try and get a hold on the explosion of new sensations assaulting her, but as the seconds ticked by, she could feel herself coming slightly back into her body. She was slowly but surely adjusting to the feel of Draco’s cock inside of her, helped along by the way he’d begun sweeping his big hands over every part of her body he could reach. 

“How are you doing, Granger?”

Hermione blew out a breath, tilted her head back down toward Draco, and experimentally rolled her hips a little. She hissed. “Good. Overwhelmed. Good. It’s just so much — _more_.”

“You’re taking it so well. I knew you would. You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Sorry I’m going so slow. I’m sure it’s agonizing to just lay there and wait like that.”

“Please do not insult me by apologizing to me right now.”

Draco sat up against his arms, jostling her a bit, then even further until he was properly upright on the bed. Hermione was in his lap, sitting on his cock. She leaned into his chest, breathing slow and deep to adjust to the new angle. He easily held her to him, his hands roaming over her back and keeping them skin to skin as he maneuvered them until he could comfortably sit up against the headboard. He raised her face to his, his eyes searching, before he met her in a brief, devouring kiss. 

Curious, Hermione raised herself up on her knees a bit. The sensation of Draco sliding out of her made her shudder. It was so...dirty. Phenomenal. Strange. Mind-melting.

She sank back down, and found that their combined patience had indeed paid off. Every movement still sent a scrape of fire pulsing through the nerves inside of her, but the edge of the pain had softened into a persistent, complex and totally overwhelming sort of pleasure. 

It meant they were really doing this. It meant she could follow Draco’s earlier orders and use him a little bit. It meant she was doing something with Draco and her body that she’d never experienced with anyone else.

She was used to feeling full when Draco fucked her. It was a feeling she chased. She liked being consumed by him from the inside out. This, however, was on a totally different level. She settled into a slow rhythm, twisting and grinding and rising up on her legs enough to make them both groan as she sat back down hard into his lap. She was glad she’d come multiple times with the plug in beforehand, because it had relaxed her enough to make the stretch and burn of Draco in her arse now feel truly delicious. She could imagine that attempting this any less relaxed and ready would’ve made it impossible for her to be riding Draco like this.

It was obscene how much her pussy was dripping.

Hermione felt Draco’s fingers suddenly, parting around his length so that he could fuck up into her between them and press them to her flexing arsehole at the same time. She was so slick with lube that he slid them against her easily, making her shiver with pleasure. Her clit had just started rubbing perfectly against the solid musculature under Draco’s skin, and very quickly she was trembling all over, her legs too weak to keep lifting her up on Draco’s cock.

“Are you close, darling?”

“Very.” Hermione breathed deep through her nose.

“Can you wait for me?”

She had to consider it for a moment. “I think so.”

“Where do you want me to come?”

She averted her eyes, her face and chest burning with sudden shame. Draco reached up to bring her face back towards his, holding her firmly. Chastened, she steeled herself and rose to the challenge, clenching her arse until his eyes fluttered. “Inside of me.”

“What was that?”

“You know what I said.”

“Yes, but I would like to hear it again.”

She didn’t know why it embarrassed her so much, but it did. It made her feel feral, the way she loved having Draco come inside of her. She rarely said it out loud. Draco had only put it together from the way she could sometimes make herself come hard around him while he was pulsing inside of her, and how afterward, she’d beg him to stay there. 

“I want you to come inside my arse,” she said after a second. She sounded defiant, though he’d only asked her to acknowledge something they both knew she wanted desperately.

“That’s my sweet girl. My brave girl. I can’t wait to fill you up.”

Hermione was embarrassed again to feel her empty pussy contract at his words, but that evaporated in the space of a heartbeat as Draco planted his feet on the bed, braced his back against the headboard, gripped the swell of her hips, and started driving himself up into her.

Everything was being stimulated at once: her arse, rippling and squeezing and sending brand new electrical signals to her brain, skidding everything else into overdrive. Her clit, slippery and swollen and sensitive as it slid across Draco’s skin. The pressure points of each of his fingertips. The way he held handfuls of her body like she was his to possess.

It was all she could do to hold on, keep herself from plunging into the waiting abyss.

“Granger.” Draco was panting. His eyes glowed. “Hermione.”

She met his silver gaze, unable to speak.

“It’s time, love.”

Her vision was going fuzzy, every muscle in her body tensed up at once, poised on the edge of uncontrollable release.

“Come for me. Come now.”

The tension inside of Hermione snapped all at once, unleashing tidal waves of white-hot pleasure that swept her into their undertow and threatened to drown her. She was distantly aware of Draco’s deep, low groan, the stream of filthy praise for her spilling from his mouth as he emptied himself into her. She was exquisitely aware of the feel of his cock pulsing, and each twitch made her jerk against him and set off another round of shivers and moans for them both.

Most of Hermione felt hazy, loose. She was floating, except for the exhilarating aftershocks of her orgasm and the impossible to ignore anchor of Draco, still throbbing inside of her. She slumped forward against his chest, now covered in a sheen of sweat. She sucked in a huge, shuddering breath, and the delicious smell of him with it. 

It took her a moment to realize Draco was speaking to her. She could feel the hum of his voice through his skin, and pulled her head back to focus on him. “Mmm?” she asked, wanting him to repeat himself.

He smiled at her in a way that could almost have been described as sweet. Hermione sometimes thought the sheer angulature of his cheekbones made that impossible. “Just making sure you’re alright.”

Hermione couldn’t stop an incredulous laugh from spilling from her. “Oh, yes. I’m alright.” She saw his face, and realized he might not actually know how world-shattering that had been for her. It seemed imperative that she tell him. “Draco, that was...maybe the most erotic and intimate experience of my lifetime. I’m not even sure those are the right words. I’m not sure there are any words. It was perfect. You’re perfect. Thank you.”

His eyes were molten. He didn’t speak for a moment, and Hermione knew that he was collecting himself behind the intense veil of his gaze. He did this on occasion, drawing back into his mind to compose himself when he was overwhelmed by something she’d said to or about him.

“Please don’t thank me. I should be thanking you. Every time I touch you…” he trailed off. Hermione was happy to wait for him to finish this thought, but it seemed he wasn’t going to be able to say more at the moment. 

She leaned in and nipped lightly at his lower lip. A few strands of his usually perfect hair had fallen across his forehead, and he looked at her so tenderly when she pulled away that it made her ache. “Well,” she said, a little shy despite the fact that his cock was still inside of her, “I won’t want it _every_ time, but I definitely want to do this again. Soon.”

Draco’s silent face was radiant. He gathered her to him so she could no longer meet his eyes, cradling her whole head with one hand.

***

“Granger?”

Draco’s voice came from the kitchen on the other side of the flat, pulling Hermione out of her early morning doze. Her whole body was pleasantly sore, heavy. Present. “Malfoy,” she called back, deadpan.

There was a small pause. “Hermione. You bought milk?”

It was, up until this exact moment, a running bit between them — Hermione drank strong tea and strong coffee both, and while she did like her morning cup with a healthy spoonful of sugar, she was categorically opposed to people who doused either in dairy. She didn’t like the stuff in her house, and had unreservedly judged Draco since the morning after he’d first stayed over and innocently inquired if she had any milk he could use. 

And now, sitting in her fridge: milk. For him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She wandered into the kitchen behind him, her cheeks a little pink and her legs bare under her loose sleep shirt.

Draco held up the glass bottle in one hand, leaning his hip against the closed door of the fridge. “Not just any milk. This is the nice stuff. Organic. Straight from the cow.” He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as the tinge on Hermione’s cheeks darkened. 

“I haven’t the faintest idea how that got in there.”

“Well, unless you’ve radically changed your stance on house elves, Granger, there’s really only one answer: you _fancy_ me.” He set the milk on the counter and advanced on her while she avoided his eyes. “You care about my morning coffee. You brought dairy into the hallowed halls of your home, just for me.”

Granger met his eyes, suddenly. It made Draco pause, like he thought he’d pushed something too far, or maybe just far enough to catch the edge of something he wasn’t expecting.

Hermione’s voice came out a bit weaker than usual, but anyone who wasn’t Draco would’ve likely missed it. “Simmer down, Detective Malfoy. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself jumping to conclusions. Maybe I bought it for a recipe.” She pushed up on her toes to give him a brief, hard kiss that said everything her words hadn’t, and gestured magnanimously as if he could now proceed with defiling his coffee right in front of her. 

She watched as he did exactly that with delight, meeting her eyes as he licked up a single drip of milk that he caught on the bottle with a slender finger. He then took a long sip of the concoction, his eyes closed, savoring the taste and the fact that she’d done it for him. 

Watching him made her feel brave. When he opened his eyes, she took the mug from his hand and set it gently on the counter, valiantly avoiding a nose wrinkle at its light brown hue.

She opened her mouth twice before closing it again. Draco watched her closely, reaching up to smooth a stray curl away from her face. “What is it, sweetheart?” he asked. Sometimes, he was so gentle with her that it broke her heart.

“I just wanted to say that I’d only bring milk into my house for someone I love.” Hermione felt a surge of confidence the moment the words were out of her mouth. She looked him in the eye, and said again, without a hint of uncertainty: “I love you, Draco Malfoy.”

He was silent for a moment, and Hermione could see him gathering himself. When he spoke again, it filled her with such a glittering burst of joy, she thought she might shatter.

“You are it for me, you impossible, glorious creature,” he said. He kissed her, warm and soft. “I love you. Thank you. I love you.” 

Hermione held him close, and heard in his voice the echo of their fateful first conversation across a sticky table at The Twin Compasses.

“For the rest of my days,” he said.

***


End file.
